


it’s just a mild inconvenience

by izadreamer



Category: Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Blood and Injury, Character Development, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Families of Choice, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Varian is Bad at Feelings, but then he survives and its HILARIOUS, varian dies and its sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izadreamer/pseuds/izadreamer
Summary: Pro Tip— When you die saving the life of your worst enemy, make absolutely sure there’s no chance of survival. Otherwise, things get awkward. Like really,reallyawkward.Personally, Varian would take the death and dying. At least then he doesn’t have to deal with all this “caring” nonsense.





	1. a mildly inconvenient beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This fic (and au) was created with the amazing Jessy!! (You can check out her awesome artwork [here!](http://jessucakes.tumblr.com)) This whole story is the weirdest mix of angst and humor, but oh gosh, it’s absolutely wonderful. I’m so glad to finally be sharing it with you all!
> 
> Also, while I do beg you to please mind the tags, I promise this is a fun story!! Lots of laughs! 
> 
> **Warnings** for cursing/swearing (like, there a few f-bombs in here), mild character death, impalement, blood and injury, crying…. aaaaand also humor!! Haha! (I swear this a funny story okay, I know how it looks, THE SAD IS TEMPORARY) 
> 
> As always though, if there is something you feel I missed, just let me know and I’ll add it on here!
> 
> That said— I hope you enjoy this story. It’s going to be a fun ride!

It starts like this: Varian dies.

Or, perhaps, to be more precise—he should have died. 

In all honesty, he’s still a bit pissed about that. Oh, _sure,_ Eugene gets to die, and he comes back to a castle and friends and a new love of his life. But hey! That’s fair! Eugene didn’t want to die, so kudos to him and all that. But Varian? Varian never asked for this.

Which, okay, to be fair. It’s not like he wanted to die. Dying hurt! It sucked! It was super painful, bloody, emotionally taxing, and just all in all…. inconvenient. Yes, that’s the word. Inconvenient. It was a goddamn painful inconvenience, and maybe he was crying at the time, Varian isn’t entirely sure. In short: it was messy, and it was awful.

Out of all the bad choices Varian’s made over the years, he thinks dying takes the cake. Not a very wise choice, death. No one ever really mentions how its excruciating, or drawn-out, or horrifically scarring of both the mental and physical variety. And worst of all, if done poorly, it ends up leaving everyone involved in a really awkward—and inconvenient! —situation.

And hey, maybe Varian didn’t _want_ to die, but is it so hard to understand that maybe he’d like to stay dead once it happened? He wasn’t Eugene! He wasn’t looking for a happy ending or forgiveness or… or whatever this is that Rapunzel and the others have started doing, the weirdos. Lighthearted stalking? Creepy amounts of importance placed on his living situation? There’s a word for this, he’s certain—caring, maybe.

Varian never asked them to care.

It’s an absolute mess, is what it is.

And really, is that so much to ask for? If he’s going to die, no matter how awful or painful it is, he’d like to stay dead, thanks. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? You get impaled by a shiny rock, you cry because of the shiny rock, your worst enemy cries with you and asks terribly annoying questions like “Why,” and “I thought you hated me, why did you—” and “Please, please, hold on! Just hold on!”

Which is all well and good, when you’re dying. Not so well and good when you wake up again.

No, no, Varian is getting ahead of himself here. Perhaps he should just start back at the beginning, give this whole thing a second try. Slower this time, start the long and complicated tale over again.

See, the whole mess starts like this: Varian dies.

-

Varian dies saving Rapunzel. 

He doesn’t plan on it. It’s not exactly an event he anticipated, or really even a conscious choice on his part. There is no time for thinking, in that moment—on that day.

The beginning of this whole convoluted tale feels like it happened in a different world, a different time. There is an enemy, someone new, a man whose name Varian never bothered to remember. A foe that cares not for killing everyone but really just cares about killing Rapunzel, and those closest to her heart. Varian had been there only by happenstance—only because revenge had been at the forefront of his mind, and at the time, he’d thought Rapunzel dying was what he wanted.

He never thought the bad guy would win.

That day is seared into Varian’s memory in flashes, distorted by adrenaline. Blurs of motion and color running through his mind, voices crying out and words snatched out of thin air by a howling wind. The world had gone dark, the sky obscured by red clouds, the sun set and the moon hidden from view. Fires had spotted the desolate landscape, their high flame glinting off the many black rocks sprouting throughout the land. Beneath his feet, the earth—dead and cold, hard as stone.

He can remember the black rocks—hundreds of them, it had felt like, budding like wicked flowers from the cold ground, unfurling into dangerous clusters. Controlled not by Rapunzel, but by her foe, controlled using a potion Varian himself had created.

( _He hadn’t thought it would actually **work** —)_

Most if not all of that fight is a haze. Insults exchanged, pleas and bargains, the conflict dragging on long into the night. Cassandra and Eugene, separated and captured. Rapunzel, left alone in the dust, caged in by stone. Varian, beside her—betrayed by the villain, because of course he had been.

And yet, even in all that chaos, one memory alone rings out clearly.

Varian had been on his feet. So had Rapunzel. Shouting at each other, maybe, screaming, all those old wounds torn open once again. Rapunzel asking him for help—Varian denying her—her voice, clear and bright, rising above the din—

“Varian, please! Cass and Eugene—he’ll kill them, please, if we were ever friends—please, I know I failed you, but they don’t deserve this, please just _help_ me—!”

Varian had pulled himself up to his full height to shout back, furious words rising to his tongue. He had breathed in to speak, and then his eyes had caught on a glint of light, his attention diverted by the reflection of fire against dark stone.

He had looked without thinking, and he had seen the black rocks rise up over Rapunzel’s shoulder.

It is strange how slowly the world turns, when tragedy comes striking. In that moment, on that day, Varian sees the rocks rise up and understands with sudden clarity what is about to happen. The world hesitates, time halted, as if waiting for him to piece together the truth, waiting for him to decide what he will do about it.

The rocks rise up, move forward, a wave of deadly spires. In this chaos, Rapunzel cannot hear their approach. She will not see them. She will not turn.

They will run her through the heart, and she will die here, on this dead and burning land. She will die alone, or as good as, no friends or family by her side. Only Varian. Only enemies.

She will die, and she will die alone.

 _She’ll die,_ Varian thinks, and it’s funny, isn’t it, the thought that follows after that. _But—but she can’t die._

It’s a silly thought; it’s a strange thought. The thought of a child, of someone who once looked upon Rapunzel with awe, and in seeing her thought her near-immortal. She is too bright to die in a place like this. She is too beloved. She has too much left to live for.

And perhaps that is the truth of it. She is Rapunzel, princess of Corona. She has family, friends, and a kingdom that adores her. She has people who love her. People who will miss her. People who will mourn.

(Is he one of them?)

(Varian came to kill Rapunzel, but he never thought he would succeed.)

He sees the rocks rise over her shoulder and it’s like a bolt of clarity striking his heart. People will miss her. They will not miss him; there is no-one left to miss him. And Rapunzel—

Varian hates her. He does. Truly and honestly. But he does not want her to die, not like this, not here, not alone.

In his heart, he knows that she doesn’t deserve it.

These thoughts flash through Varian’s mind in less than a second. It is not really a choice, not quite—it is too quick, too instinctive to truly be called deliberate. What is known in the heart is not always echoed in the mind. But there is enough thought behind it to drive him forward, to get him moving. He lunges for her, reaches her in three steps, and then Varian throws her out of the way.

He tries to move back the moment Rapunzel is in the clear. Varian doesn’t want to die, after all. But by then—by then, it is far too late.

He turns to run, and the black rocks run him through.

Everything gets rather fuzzy, after that. Blood roars in his ears and rises in his throat, the coppery taste sharp and tangy on his tongue. Red coats his hands and paints his chest, drips from his lips when he tries to cough. There is a sharp pain at his chest, at his back, an agony that would drive him to his knees if Varian were not forced to keep standing by the spike in his chest.

The world blurs for a reason other than adrenaline now. Colors swim before his eyes, noise condensing and then rising, at times so soft he feels deafened and then so loud it nearly makes him cry. Screaming and yelling and the laughter of a man whose name Varian never bothered to learn, but loudest of all is Rapunzel.

“ _Why,_ ” she is saying, and he can hear her suddenly and sharply, her wrecked and ruined voice echoing in his ears. “I thought you hated me, why did you—oh, _god,_ Varian—!”

The world is clouding before his eyes, but he can see her, still, her figure indistinct, silhouetted and shining against the dark sky. She is crying, and this realization is a distant one, his thoughts slow as if dragged through a heavy fog. She is crying as Varian has never seen her cry before, great heaving sobs that wrack her whole frame, horror in her wide eyes, grief in her twisted lip and pale face. She is standing beside him, swaying on her feet. Her outstretched hands hover uselessly by his chest, trembling so badly they are a blur in his unfocused vision. Her words are near-indistinguishable through her sobs.

“Oh, _Varian,_ ” she says, and something in the way she says that makes him feel cold, pained in a way that has nothing to do with the spike impaling him through the chest. “W-why?”

He can’t remember what he says to her, if he says anything at all. No lungs left, probably, no breath, no words. He can remember trying to speak, and the agony spiking—he thinks he might scream, and when the world swims back into focus he’s crying, and trying not to, because every sob makes him hurt a little more.

“Hold on,” Rapunzel whispers, and this moment here is the clearest memory he will have of this event. “Hold on,” Rapunzel says, tears pooling in her eyes, and Varian stares up at her pale face and thinks, a bit hysterical and perhaps uncharitably, that it would have been nice to die a little faster, thanks, before he had to see this.

“Please, just—hold on, h-hold on, please…” 

She takes his hand, her hold tight, her palm warm against his cold skin. Varian’s fingers twitch in a vain attempt to pull out of her grasp. _I didn’t do it for you,_ Varian thinks, which in hindsight is not a very logical thought _. I didn’t do it for you, I didn’t, stop crying, it hurts bad enough without you crying…_

“Please, please, stay with me…”

_Stop crying._

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

His vision goes faint, head spinning. Sound slips away. So does light, so does Rapunzel, so the world, so does everything else. Death, come at last, bringing with it a ravenous darkness and a blessed escape.

Varian feels strangely relieved. _Are you proud of me, Dad?_ he thinks, and then he doesn’t think anything else for a very long time.

-

And then, the unthinkable.

Varian wakes up.

-

He regains consciousness on the third day.

Awareness is slow to return, reality more so. Varian blinks open bleary eyes to the sight of a local infirmary. His chest is tight, his head ringing faintly with a slight ache. He tries to move and notes bemusedly that he cannot, his limbs pinned down by rough blankets.

He stares blankly at the ceiling for a long moment. His mind is muddled, his emotions dull with a bizarre contentment. He feels—not bad, actually. But weird. His chest is kind of tight, almost taut, and it is also unnaturally warm, like a pit of light has settled by his heart and curled up to rest.

Something about that strikes him as strange. Varian blinks up at the ceiling, rolling the thought in his mind like he might candy on his tongue. Pieces of a puzzle, and if he can place them in the right order, he might know what picture they create. His chest is tight, he doesn’t know where he is, and… he’s covered in—bandages?

“Varian!”

He wakes up very quickly, after that.

Varian shoots upright in the bed, momentarily caught in the covers. He slams back against the pillow and wastes precious seconds struggling against the unyielding sheets. When he is finally free of the cotton death trap, he throws them off completely, and is abruptly brought face-to-face with— _Rapunzel._

Rapunzel, who is… smiling at him? What?

“ _Varian_!” she repeats, voice bright with genuine relief, finally leaning back. Her hands cover her mouth and then drop, fluttering in the air as if in her emotion she isn’t quite sure what to do with them. “You’re okay!”

He opens his mouth. No sound comes out. 

Memory comes rushing back, in sync with and complemented by Rapunzel’s running commentary. “Oh, gosh, you’ve finally woken up—thank god—they said my tears reacted weird with the rocks so I wasn’t sure—”

He’d been impaled, Varian remembers. He’d died. He had—he had _died._

Rapunzel clasps her hands. She’s beaming at him. She has literal tears in her eyes, actual joy in her face. Varian is alive and he should be dead, and—looking back—didn’t he die because—

Oh no. Oh no, ohhhhh no no no—

“But you’re okay!” says Rapunzel, like they’re old buddies instead of enemies.

Ohhhhhh shit—

“So it’s all good!”

Oh shit, oh damn, _oh no—_

Her smile is faltering. “Uh, Varian? Are you—you look—um…”

Varian sucks in a deep breath, and finally finds his voice.

“No!” he shouts, and then, with feeling, “FUCK!” and then, because what _else_ he supposed to do in this situation, really— Varian lunges for the window.

Rapunzel yelps, and Varian finds himself abruptly jerked back before he can even touch the windowsill. Rapunzel has a hand wrapped around his bicep and locked under one shoulder, her eyes wide and her voice strained.

“Varian, please—”

“ _No!_ ” Varian shouts back, and tries to squirm out of her hold. Her fingers are like a vice around his arm, and she’s holding him off the ground and against her chest like he weighs less than a sack of coin, keeping him from lunging forward. His legs kick uselessly and furiously at the air. “No, no, no—”

“Varian!”

“Nope! I refuse! I’m not doing this!”

“Varian, for the love of—”

“NOT TALKING TO YOU,” Varian shouts, which isn’t his finest comeback, but well—he just died, and now he’s fucking _alive,_ so really, Varian deserves a pass. He’s in shock, probably. The time for proper smart-ass comments will be much later. “Nope, nope—let me go!”

“Stop trying to jump out the window!”

“Who made _you_ the boss of me!?” Varian replies sullenly, and kicks futilely at the air again. “I can’t believe I’m _alive!_ What the hell! How could you!?”

Apparently, this comment is enough of a shock that Rapunzel’s hold loosens, just a bit. Varian triumphantly slips free of her grasp, takes two wobbly steps forward, and nearly brains himself on the wall.

Rapunzel stares at him, but hesitates to reach for him again. “Um—are you…?”

“Fine!” Varian shouts. His fingers scrabble at the windowsill to no avail, the glass stuck firmly shut. “I’m—I’m just _peachy!_ ”

Her face pinches, and her hand reaches out, as if to pull him back again. Well, hah! She’s already _brought him back_ , offense number one; he’s definitely not going to let her manhandle him!

Varian ducks beneath her arm and fast-walks to the door. He’s almost there, almost free, and Rapunzel’s still a bit in shock so maybe, maybe he can actually do this—

He throws open the infirmary door, slams face-first into a walking beanpole dressed in a blue vest, and goes tumbling.

_“Ow!”_

“What the hell?”

On the floor, once again, Varian blinks bleary eyes at the ceiling. He sits up slowly, rubbing his head, heart sinking in his chest. He recognizes that voice. God damn it, he recognizes that voice. There’s only one person Varian knows who wears a dumb blue vest _and_ can look utterly unaffected even after having 90 pounds of underweight teen fly into him.

Varian looks up.

Eugene stares back.

“I hate you,” Varian tells him, because actually in hindsight he might be a little bit drugged, “and everything you stand for.”

“That’s nice,” says Eugene, and makes to grab Varian’s arm.

Eugene by the door, and Rapunzel by the window. And Varian—somehow alive, half-dressed and bandaged all up his torso, no staff or Rudiger or alchemy in sight, trapped in a room with two people he really, really doesn’t want to see.

Well, then.

“Ah, _fuck,_ ” Varian says, and books it.


	2. it's not kindness, it's ________

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are strange doctor ladies, awkward conversations, and a ridiculous amount of internal monologues. Honestly, Varian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this chapter was interesting. Different style from the last, a bit, but still fun!! And very, very necessary. (Because of course Varian can't ever make things easy, y'know??)
> 
> The response to this story makes me so happy to see!! I'm overjoyed to know you guys are excited for this au!! It's going to be a fun ride, ahaha! (That said, thank you all so much for your lovely comments!! Know I cherish each and every one, and I plan on replying as soon as I can!! ❤️)
> 
>  **Warnings** for cursing/swearing (Varian, tsk tsk, watch your language), references to past character death (including references to past impalement), and... that's all, really. Huh. As always though, if there is something you feel I missed, just let me know and I’ll add it on here!

Varian doesn’t get very far, regrettably.

It’s Eugene who catches him, mostly because he’s taller and has longer legs and, unlike Varian, is neither in shock nor drugged, and so clearly has the advantage. This is the only reason he wins. The _only_ reason.

“Are you a child or some weird _shapeshifting eel creature_ ,” Eugene wheezes, trying desperately to keep a hold on him. He’d caught up to Varian no problem, but Varian takes a demented sort of glee in the knowledge that _catching_ him sure wasn’t easy. Though the commentary is a bit insulting, so just for that, Varian elbows Eugene in the chin with gusto. He doesn’t get free but he does get petty revenge, and really, isn’t that all that matters? 

Eugene hauls him back into the infirmary room regardless of Varian’s many efforts. Despite the quick scuffle and enthusiastic measures to escape, Eugene has somehow managed to find a way to hold Varian in such a way that he’s effectively useless. He’s hanging half-way upside down and trapped between Eugene’s side and his arm. It’s ridiculous, uncomfortable, and probably mortifying for the both of them, but Varian can’t kick or punch Eugene at all now, and he suspects darkly that this was the intent.

He scowls at the ground, the blood rushing to his head, and gives another go at squirming out of the hold. Nothing. Varian’s not yet at the point where he considers biting Eugene to be the best course of action, but— _well._ He’s getting pretty damn close.

“Put me down!”

“Sure, kid,” Eugene says, and the world goes topsy-turvy and then suddenly and painfully soft. Eugene has—he’s dumped Varian face-first on the bed, that _jerk!_ Mattresses hurt!

Varian pushes himself upright and turns to glare at him, rubbing at his nose. Rapunzel is still here—and, damn it, still _smiling_ , hands twisted in a knot before her chest and face cast with a shade of uncertainty, but all in all still disgustingly positive.

Varian can’t look her in the eyes— _he’d died, and he’d died saving... why the hell had he—_ so he glares at Eugene instead, because Eugene is easy, and still despised, and also in general kind of an ass, so there’s no harm in hating him. He jabs one finger at the older man’s face and says, “Let me go. Right now.”

“We can’t do that, Varian,” Rapunzel says, and wow, that’s pretty rude, can’t she see Varian is ignoring her with every fiber of his being? He doesn’t want to look at her, and then she goes and starts talking anyway. “We still don’t know if you’re entirely okay! You were in a coma for three days, and before that, you had just _di_ —”

She stops, voice withering, and all of sudden he can’t look at her for an entirely different reason. His stomach twists into knots, his breaths shortening, chest tight with an echo of searing pain.

“Doctor says bed rest,” Eugene announces in a rush, but he says it so loudly and with such desperate gusto that it sounds more like “DOCTORSAYSBEDREST” and just about sends Varian falling from the bed out of sheer fright. “So, uh, yeah, no can do, that lady scares the shit outta me and I’m not going to be risking her wrath anytime soon, so just—just—” Eugene clears his throat, and for a moment his eyes shift to Rapunzel, something wordless passing between them.

Varian waits, glaring up at them. “Just _what?”_

“Do… that…?” Eugene offers, and beside him, Varian can hear Rapunzel sigh.

There is a long and awkward pause. Eugene clenches his jaw and then sighs, the tension finally falling from his shoulders. He lifts one hand and rubs it down his face.

“Look, kid… Varian,” he says finally, voice slow and measured. “I know this is… weird. And yeah, I’ll be straight with you, this is goddamn strange. You’re not the only one wanting to jump out a window, though as per usual you’re the only one bonkers enough to actually _try and do so—_ ”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel says.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “I get it, okay? You don’t like us, that’s fine. And hey, you’re… actually pretty unlikeable yourself, to be fair—”

“ _Eugene.”_

“BUT,” Eugene says loudly, waving his hand down at Rapunzel. “We don’t, y’know, actually hate you. Or want you to die. Or suffer. Or… any of that awful stuff. Which might be a really weird concept to you, kid, except—” And here Eugene pauses, and Varian can feel his heart sink, “Maybe you  _do_ know what I mean, don’t you?”

For a moment Varian cannot respond, any response drowned out under what has been said and what has been implied. _You didn’t want her to die. Or suffer._

_You don’t actually hate us._

The memory of that spike through his chest is clear, sharp and sudden, and for a second Varian cannot breathe under the weight of it, can taste phantom blood in his throat and almost see that dark earth behind his eyelids. And then the words register, and his anger rises up, so wonderfully familiar he could cry.

“Oh?” Varian says, and he feels cold, now, at last in control of himself. This anger is welcome, so terribly welcome. It drowns out the memory of that dark world, that echo of pleading still in his ears, the questions twisting around his heart and soul. _Why did I—_

“What makes you think that?” Varian says, and he smiles. The tide has shifted, and it has shifted in his favor. At last he knows what to say.  “What, did you just forget the past, oh, year of me trying my best to brutally murder you all? Do you think one good deed will change that? You think this changes _anything_?”

Eugene falters, and Varian’s smile grows. The relief he feels at this is startling. Nothing has changed, not really. This is merely a bump in the road, an obstacle of little importance. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

“Doesn’t it?”

Rapunzel’s voice is soft. Quiet, yet firm, and at the sound of it, Varian falters. He forgets himself, he looks at her, and he sees her red-rimmed eyes and her hands clasped before her, back straight and head tilted. The memory arises without warning, overlaying on the present, the image of her silhouette against the dark sky, the clearest memory besides the pain—

Sour bile rises in his throat, and Varian tears his eyes away.

“It does matter,” Rapunzel says, a note of finality in this statement. “It matters to me, Varian, even if it doesn’t to you.”

He sneers at the bed covers. “Trying to redeem a villain, _Princess?”_

“I’m trying to repay a kindness.”

Something in him withers at that, at that wording, at that quiet reproach in her voice. Varian shivers, grasping for that former confidence, but it had faltered at her voice and now has slipped fully from his grasp.

He ignores it, all of it, because what _else_ is he supposed to do, and how is he supposed to respond to that? Damn them, this is exactly what he didn’t want to happen!

Rapunzel wants a happily ever after; screw that, Varian thinks. She wants him to play along, to pretend everything’s okay—well it’s not, and he refuses, and she’s just going to have to live with it.

He’s not sure what they’re expecting—Tears? Heartfelt apologies? Declaration of feelings? —but they aren’t fucking getting it, oh _no,_ not from him. Instead Varian lifts his hand and jabs a finger at her, now, a sharp point of accusation that breaks her calm and makes her blink back. The tension breaks with her stare. All at once they are again on even ground and oh, _god,_ thank god.

“This is shitty repayment!” Varian announces loudly, something desperate in the words, and takes delightful pleasure in how her nose scrunches at the swear. Ha- _ha._ “Repayment is money! Me being left alone! Revenge or something! _This?”_ He waves a hand at the room, confidence growing, the desperate edge giving way to offense. “This is just kidnapping! What the hell!”

“To be fair,” Eugene says, “The alternative was, y’know, _death,_ so I’m not entirely sure why you’re complaining—”

Varian swings that finger onto him, nearly jabbing Eugene in the eye. “Don’t you start, Fitzherbert!”

Eugene blinks, then snorts through his nose, crossing his arms. “Ooh, fancy, last-name basis now. How long did it take you to learn how to pronounce that correctly?”

 Varian splutters. “That is not the point! The point is—”

“Also, considering your usual, y’know, _plots,_ isn’t kidnapping actually appropriately ironic? Food for thought!”

“It’s still _kidnapping_!” Varian snaps, and jumps up off the bed onto his feet so that he can glare at them properly. It doesn’t help. They still tower over him. “It’s only okay when I do it!”

“ _Okay,_ now that’s just plain—”

“Guys, please,” Rapunzel starts, and Eugene turns to argue with her, and Varian takes delightful pleasure in yelling at them both. For a little while the world is back to as it should be—blessedly antagonistic and chaotic in equal measure, and the memory of his death and what it meant, is, if only for a little while, thankfully far away.

-

They’re about midway in a shouting match when the doctor finally hears them. She doesn’t appreciate the noise, if her exasperated threats are any indication. She sweeps in with a pile of fabric and glass in her arms and just about drops it all when she sees them, dark skin going even darker with anger and eyes going wide when she takes in the events.

“Are you lot _yelling_ at my  _patient_ _!?_ _”_ she says, with a voice full of ominous thunder, and everything after that is a whirlwind. It is, honestly, a tiny bit scary: the doctor sweeps in and wrestles Varian back under the covers and the Princess and Eugene out the door in about ten seconds flat. Between one blink and the next—gone. One minute Varian’s shouting at the top of his lungs, the next he’s flat on his back and the room is near devoid of people.

Seriously, what?

Well, Varian thinks. It could probably be worse. At least he doesn’t have to listen to Rapunzel’s prattle anymore, or Eugene—thank god, really, because his neck is starting to hurt from staring up and shouting at them for so long. Seriously, _why_ are they so tall? That kind of height should be illegal, or something. It completely throws a wrench into proper revenge ranting.

The doctor, unlike Eugene and Rapunzel, is blessedly silent in comparison. She barely even looks at him—not directly, anyway, though she eyes him every once in a while, pinning him with a short stare and then looking away. She does that… a lot, actually. It’s kind of freaking him out a bit.

Okay, maybe its freaking Varian out a lot. It’s just… little things. She keeps eyeing him like she’s faced with a puzzle she doesn’t get, which. Okay, granted, could be explained by him dying and then coming back (thanks for fucking nothing, Rapunzel, you useless princess, you’ve brought him back and made him a circus sideshow freak in the process). But _then_.

In the weirdest move doctor lady has pulled yet, she puts an old (and _way_ oversized, which means it’s Eugene’s, and at some point Varian is going to have to burn it on principle) shirt on the dresser before leaving. Which, _whatever,_ except as she does it, she pins him with another unreadable stare and gives a really cryptic statement of “You’ll be wanting this dearly, child, the collar will help hide your neck and arms.” And then she just… leaves without a backward glance. Boom. End of conversation.

Like. The hell, lady?

Still, weird-ass doctors aside, Varian is finally—finally! —on his own. He waits a good few seconds, listening intently, and the moment he is certain that no one else is coming back, he slips out of bed without any hesitation. He pads his way silently across the room, and then he eases open the door with a careful creak, ready to duck out. He just needs to see where the guards are at, and then—

Varian stops. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then draws away, shutting the door very softly. He stares at his hand for a long moment. He pursues his lips. He squints at the air.

“No,” he decides, and opens the door again. The same image. He closes it. Opens it. Closes it. Absolutely no change. The scientific method has failed him.

Varian throws open the door completely, letting it bang against the wall, arms outstretched, ears straining. Nothing. Empty hallway, silent house, not a single goddamn guard in sight.

He stares at the empty hallway for a long moment. “What the fuck,” Varian whispers, and grabs the door handle, slamming it shut. He waits. No footsteps, no yelling… “Whaaaaaat the ever- _loving—”_

 Okay. So. Apparently the whole… _dying_ thing must have really addled some brains here, because Varian is starting to think they haven’t even posted a damn guard. Which is—it can’t be. He’s almost offended. Why on earth would someone forget that? He could just—walk out! Right now! They’d never even know!

Do they probably think he’s in too much shock to escape or something? Or too hurt, and well, he is probably a little drugged— no, still no excuse. That’s it. Varian _is_ offended. He’s spent a whole year building up his reputation as a someone to take seriously, and apparently one tiny, practically inconsequential mishap has sent it all spiraling down the drain.

It’s goddamn typical, is what is it. It’s also terribly insulting.

Just for that, Varian jumps out the window. No guards outside his door? Screw them; Varian’s sneaking out properly regardless, and he’s jumping out as many windows as he can along the way. They must have at least guarded the perimeter. He’ll jump out, scare of few metal-heads, maybe trip a few guys. That’ll teach _them_ to not post a guard at the door, the inconsiderate jerks.

Still, the whole thing leaves him jittery and uncertain. It’s not until Varian’s jumped out, oversized shirt pulled over his head, bereft of any of his possessions, that he realizes he— really didn’t think this through. No Rudiger, no alchemy, none of his things…

But apparently, that doesn’t matter. Because even outside, there are still no guards, either. Not even a stranger. Varian looks around the side of the infirmary house with a growing sense of unease. No one. Nothing. They’d just— left him. Alone. Completely alone. What the hell is going on? Are they stupid? Did someone’s head get knocked the wrong way when he wasn’t looking?

His mind, without warning, strays back to Rapunzel. _Maybe she just trusted me not to leave._

Which is—weird. So weird. What is Varian even supposed to think about that?

He lingers at the bottom of the window, struck with sudden uncertainty, a strange anxiety. No guards at the door, or the windows, when they should _know—_

But hell, what’s he supposed to do, climb back _up?_ No, no way. Varian is being ridiculous. Why is he even hesitating? Who cares if they decided to trust him? Who cares if he breaks that trust? He’s not their friend, and nothing has changed, and Rapunzel is just going to have to get that through her remarkably thick skull.

Varian hisses through his teeth and marches away. He’s not looking back at the window. He’s NOT looking back at the window. Nope, nope, nope.

He looks back at the window.

…Not even a single guard. Not around the house, or side-streets, or… anything. Just a house, the doctor, and him.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Varian says. No answer. “Screw you, Raps.” Still no answer. Someone’s got to be hiding behind a corner somewhere, he refuses to believe they’ve left him unsupervised. They just… no, no. Guard around the corner. There has to be. “I’m _leaving,_ you can’t stop me, ha-ha!”

Nothing.

Varian clenches his jaw and turns his back deliberately, inwardly furious with himself. Okay, no guard, so— _Ugh._ What now?

He’s acting so stupid. It’s the painkillers; it’s gotta be. He’s just... moody, is all. Teenagers are supposed to be moody, right? It’s a puberty thing! He’ll wake up tomorrow morning faaaaaar away from here, and everything will be as it should.

The more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Dying, puberty, drugs— terrible mix. Varian’s a scientist, he should know. Everything’s absolutely a-okay, it’s just his dumb teen mind is being… dumb, again. Yeah. Yeah, that’s it!

Varian lifts his head, cheered by this idea. There’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, he’s just got to be in a better frame of mind to see it. All the more reason to leave! 

The town is small and circular, and in the distance, growing closer, he can see a ring of trees. Varian fast-walks down the roads, eying every alleyway suspiciously. He’s so close to the edge now, and there’s not even a town border wall or anything. The moment he gets into the woods, he’s home free.

He’s so close he can almost taste it. Spirits bolstered, Varian speeds up, walking fast, and blindly turns a corner just in time to hear, “…doing all right?”

Varian halts in his tracks, mind going blank. No. There’s no way. Not even _his_ luck can be that bad—

Doctor lady’s raspy voice says, “Princess, I’ve told you three times, he’s perfectly fine,” and promptly shatters all of Varian’s hopes and dreams into dust.

Well, Varian thinks. So it is them. _Shit._

“Oh,” Rapunzel says— Rapunzel! Out here! Practically five feet away! _Why!?_ — “I know, I’m sorry, I just… those bandages, I just thought…”

Varian flings himself against a nearby wall, pressing a palm against his mouth to quiet himself. He is _so close._ He can see the edge of the forest just a few blocks away, but if he moves they’ll hear him and—damn it, damn it, damn it!

“As I said, your tear healed him. But…”

“But? What does that mean? There’s shouldn’t be a _but!_ ”

Doctor lady sighs loudly. “ _But,_ ” she says, “the rocks created… some weird complications. The healing perhaps wasn’t as—thorough as you are used to. It’s nothing bad, but the bandages were necessary.”

Varian freezes, panic stalled and mind caught on the conversation. That was… even more cryptic than the shirt comment. He picks at the collar of his borrowed top, suddenly hyper-aware of the bandages wrapped around his neck and the whole length of his torso. He feels fine. He feels pretty great, actually, so—why is he _covered_ in bandages?

“I—not as thorough? What do you mean? Is, is there still danger?”

“It is nothing you need to worry about.” Footsteps echo in his ears, and Varian jumps, drawing back—but they are moving away, not towards him. He can hear them only distantly now, the doctor lady saying, “Worry not; I know what I’m doing, even with all this magical involvement…”

Their voices fade. Varian waits, and when he peeks out from behind the wall, there is no one outside but him. 

He rubs absently at his chest, feeling the bump of the bandages through the borrowed shirt. Complications? What in the world does _that_ mean?

His head hurts. The night air is cold, and the conversation has left him rattled. He’s too tired to think about this right now, he can barely think straight as it is. Varian scrunches his hair in his hand and presses his palms against his eyes, bending at the knees, a strangled cry of frustration at his throat.

He bites it back just barely, rocking on his heels and then standing so fast it makes his muddled mind spin like a child’s toy. Varian steadies himself against the wall and sucks in a deep breath.

…It doesn’t matter, Varian decides finally. It’s not important. Why, oh _why_ does he keep getting stuck on these things? He’s free, he’s out! The painkillers and trauma can take a goddamn hike. Varian is getting out of here, and in the morning, everything will be just fine and it’ll be like nothing happened.

Take _that,_ Rapunzel. This whole thing has been way more trouble than it’s worth. See if he ever saves her again! Hah!

Varian casts one last look at the infirmary room and that empty window, then turns away. Good-bye, silly princess; good-bye, unguarded window; good- _bye,_ creepy cryptic doctor lady and unfamiliar town! Varian is out and he’s unsupervised, and that’s always meant good things for him and terrible things for everyone else. Freedom at last!

 He doesn’t quite skip from the village, but it’s a near thing. And really, why shouldn’t he? He’s free and he’s alive, awkward conversations avoided successfully. He certainly won’t be seeing any of _them_ anytime soon, that’s for sure, not if Varian has any say in the matter.

Varian is heading home. The ordeal is finally over.

-

The ordeal is not over.

The ordeal, Varian is finding, is not even close to being over. The ordeal has gained a consciousness and a downright awful sense of humor and is currently sitting up in the trees and cackling like a deranged manic child at his misfortune.

“Ooooooh, sure,” Varian mumbles, kicking a spare stone across the path. It’s been hours since he left the village behind, and the moon is high in the sky. “ _Eugene_ gets to die and come back, and _he_ gets a castle, _he_ gets a celebration…”

Varian is lost.

“ _He_ gets a warm bed and food… ugh, food… hot drinks… cocoa…. _Warm blankets...”_

Varian is lost in a dark forest in the middle of autumn, with no food, no jacket, and no idea of where he’s going.

In hindsight, leaving the infirmary room was—probably a bad idea. At least it was warm there.

“But me? Ohhhhh nooooo, _I_ die, and I get manhandled, weird shows of dumb trust, creepy doctor ladies and Eugene’s old shirt… do _I_ get cocoa? Do _I_ get a castle?”

High above him, the moon sits heavy and bright in the sky, shining through the towering pines. The ground is obscured to his eyes, shadows long and all-consuming. Varian has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He isn’t even following a _path._

“Oh no, no cocoa for me! No castle! Me, I get annoying princesses, I get dumb shadowy paths in the middle of _freaking nowhere,_ I get lost—”

His foot catches on a root, and Varian goes plummeting head over heels. He hits his side and then pitches down a hill, because of course he does, and then he keeps on tumbling down that, because why not, and then at last he manages to roll up on his feet just in time face-plant an icy stream, because clearly all that other stuff was letting him off _way_ too lightly.

Thanks, Universe.

Varian comes up spitting water, coughing hard, rubbing at his new bruises and stumbling back up on his feet. “This is—this is _BLATANT FAVORITISM,”_ he bellows at the sky, breathless with exhaustion, “and you should be _ashamed_!”

No answer. Varian stomps his foot, slips on some algae, and falls backward into the stream with a loud splash and high-pitched scream.

The water is even colder the second time around. Of-fucking-course it is.

Varian sits there in the stream, staring up contemplatively at the night sky, and finally closes his eyes with a whine. He slams back his head into the water, icy droplets splashing his face, the stream brushing through his hair. It is _so cold._

Seriously, just—why him? Why is it always him?

He sits there until the cold of the stream starts making him shiver, and slowly climbs up to his feet, wisely keeping his mouth shut this time around. Okay. Stay calm, Varian. Take stock of the situation. Surely there’s something good in all this!

He’s wet, cold, lost… dirty and muddy… he’s pretty sure the fall back there bruised his arm, and that hurt, damn it… he’s standing in a stream…

Tired though he is, this thought makes his mind perk up. Stream, water, _running_ water—people. People, houses, they tend to cluster around water, which means—

Ha- _ha_ , makeshift path. No more stumbling blinding around the woods for him!

“There’s a bright side to everything,” Varian mumbles, except saying it aloud makes him think of Rapunzel, and that’s… hmmm. No no, less positive, he’s got to think less like her— “Except it’s also _cold,_ and _rocky,_ and _I fell in it…”_

There, Varian thinks, marching up the streamside. Now he feels much better.

He follows the path of the stream for all the rest of night. It leads him up a few hills, and gets him turned around once it splits at a crossing, but at long last—shelter.

It’s not much, but it is better than the woods, at least. A rugged and abandoned house—a hunter’s cabin—resting high and by the streamside. The windows are broken and there’s no door, but it’s _shelter_ , and Varian stumbles through the threshold feeling so relieved he almost cries.

No cocoa—damn it—but there is a bed, and drawers, and mirror… A wardrobe, tools, even some dried meats and a tiny jar of honey. Food, at last, and Varian settles on the floor with his findings, feeling immeasurably pleased with this success.

“Take that, Princess,” he mutters, chewing furiously at the jerky. It tastes stale and dry in his mouth, and he makes a face as he gnaws at it. Ugh, gross, dust flavor. “I’m doing just fine. Trying to repay a kindness, blah blah blah, it’s kidnapping and we both know it… hah! Whatever. I’ve got food, honey, clothes; I’m doing fantastic! See if I ever come back _now_ , you bast—”

Varian stops. He takes the jerky out of his mouth, because it is honestly pretty disgusting, and also it gives him something to stare at. He looks at it for a long moment, eyes gazing past and through it into nothing. His mind is going a million miles an hour. His fingers clench and unclench as he thinks.

“Wait,” Varian says.

He is in a cabin in the woods. He has food, shelter, clothes… food, shelter, clothes… Something is missing, something’s not right, and for the life of him Varian just can’t figure out what it is—

At long last, the dots connect. The jerky slips out of Varian’s numb fingers. His eyes have gone wide, his mouth slack.

“Oh,” he says weakly. “Oh, no, no, no, no—”

The cabin in the woods. The empty cabin in the woods. The empty cabin, the quiet nature and the nighttime and Varian— _just_ Varian.

“Rudiger,” Varian breathes, and then, “Oh, shit,  _Rudiger_ _!”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional pro tip-- don't forget your beloved animal companion when you run from your problems. Sucks to be Varian. (In his defense, tho, he just died... and also he's a lil dizzy from painkillers... so...)
> 
> It amuses me greatly to think that in every fic I write, Varian's getting dragged kicking and screaming into redemption whether he wants it or not. Also, Rudiger is always involved. Weird parallels!! (Tho let's hope it goes better here than did in labyrinths, ahaha).
> 
> Up next: The Great Rudiger Rescue Mission, or: Varian's terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day at Castle Corona.
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/178089461667/title-its-just-a-mild-inconvenience-synopsis) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


	3. the great ruddiger rescue mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's..... been....... awhile..........
> 
> I'm really sorry?? 
> 
> Anyways, I'm back!! Hopefully you all haven't forgotten this fic just yet, ahaha. I still have plenty of ideas left for this universe, and I hope you like where I'm taking it!!
> 
> **Warning** for: cursing/swearing (Varian continues to be a foul-mouthed brat, more news at 11), references to past character death (including references to past impalement), somewhat graphic description of wounds/scarring, and brief mention to a panic attack. As always, if there's anything you think I missed, just let me know and I’ll add it on here!
> 
> (I swear, this is still a funny story, okay, I just gotta get the sad outta the way first--)

“Oh, no,” Varian says, for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. “Oh, no. Ohhhh no. No, no, no— damn it! Damn!”

He’s pacing in circles around the small length of the abandoned cabin, fingers curled in his hair and yanking at the strands. His feet are starting to wear grooves in the floor.

“Oh, damn. Damn! Shit! I’m an idiot!”

He’s bare-footed and cold and still a little hungry, and that one bit of stale jerky has left a frankly horrid aftertaste in his mouth. He’s craving hot chocolate so badly his throat aches, and those stupid bandages have started to chafe at his arms, and everything’s just absolutely awful, but most importantly—

“Ruddiger! Ruddiger!! I forgot Ruddiger!”

Varian is having a crisis.

“How could I forget Ruddiger?” he asks himself, pivoting hard on his heel moments before he face-plants into the wall. “ _How_ could I forget Ruddiger? Shit! Shit! It’s been hours! What the hell am I doing! Oh, my god. What do I do?”

Another pivot.

“I mean, I was pretty drugged,” Varian considers. “Am. Am still drugged. Because I died. _Died._ I mean—that could mess anyone up. I think I have some liberties here. Right? Right.”

Pivot again. His legs are cramping, a buzz of pins and needles running up and down his numb feet. Ow. _Just_ what Varian needs, thank you ever so much, stupid human flesh vessel.

“Oh, my god, I forgot Ruddiger. He’s— the Princess. He’s probably with the Princess. Of _course_ he’s with Rapunzel, why the hell not, stupid princess with her stupid hair and stupid tears and stupid _animal-stealing attitude—_ ”

He tries to pivot again, but his heel slips in the dust and instead of another dramatic turn, he just kicks his bare toes into the wall full-force. Varian bites back a yell and reels away from the wall, hopping up and down and holding his injured foot in the air. Unfortunately, though Varian is skilled in a great many things, balance is not one of them. He overbalances almost immediately and collapses back on the decaying hardwood with a high-pitched shriek of mingled pain and rage.

He hits the ground hard enough to wind himself, and scrawls boneless against the floorboards, fighting for breath. His foot aches. His legs ache. His _heart_ aches.

He misses Ruddiger.

Varian covers his face and tries to breathe. “Damn it,” he whispers, into his palms. “Damn, damn, damn—”

He stops talking once his voice starts to crack, and stays shivering on the floor until the tears have finally left him.

Breathing uneven and shaky, Varian scrubs the back of his hand across his face and takes a deep and steadying inhale through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He rolls up to his feet, supporting his trembling legs by leaning against the wall, then closes his eyes and sighs out through his teeth.

“Okay,” Varian says, softly, to himself. “Okay.” He lifts his head and opens his eyes; meets his own gaze in the bare and undecorated mirror hanging plain on the cabin wall. “What do I know? Ruddiger isn’t here. I… forgot him.” He has to force the words out, but he does, and grits his teeth to keep calm.

“I forgot him,” Varian repeats, forceful. “ _Not_ my fault, but—that’s where I’m at. Okay. So—so, I have to find him again. Where will he be? The castle, probably… with Rapunzel, definitely. She has a soft spot for animals, and she’s trying to act nice to _me_ , so she definitely won’t leave him behind.” A sudden and horrible thought strikes him. “If. If Ruddiger was there. He’s got to be there. They had to have found him. If he’s not there—”

He cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “He’s there,” Varian affirms. Never mind that he can’t remember if he brought Ruddiger with him to that last disastrous fight—never mind that he can barely remember that day at all. Ruddiger had to have been _somewhere._ “He’s there. I just have to go back and find him. Easy as baking pie.” Though… Varian had never been all that good at pies. The last one he’d made—hmmm. “Easy as baking cookies.” There. Better.

Most important of all: “I can do this.”

His shoulders slump, relaxed and loose, and the tension around his eyes has eased a bit. The feverish flush is gone from his cheeks, the wet from his eyes— no one will ever be able to tell that he was just crying. Varian surveys his own face in the mirror and blows out a long breath, brushing his fringe from his face. He’s calm. He’s sure. He looks it, too. He looks…

His mood sours again, despite his best attempts to ignore it. Well. There’s no escaping it, is there? Varian looks dreadful. Dark circles under his eyes and grease in his hair and dirt smearing down his face from when he’d tumbled into that stream. The shirt he’s wearing, even the pants—they aren’t his, and they’re far too big, the shirt practically sliding off one shoulder, exposing a whole breadth of once-white bandaging, now yellowed with dirt and age. He looks like a plague patient. He looks like a ghost. He looks like he’s died and come back to life, which— Oh! Hey! He has! 

The bandages are bothering him, though. They’re itchy _,_ and he can’t get that weird doctor’s cryptic comments out of his head. It’s… weird. No matter how awful Varian looks, he very clearly isn’t actually _injured._ His chest doesn’t hurt at all, and despite all the running and falling that should have torn any stitches wide open, there isn’t even a hint of red on those wrappings. It’s as if they’re there for show.

What was it, exactly, that the weird doctor lady said? _The rocks created some weird complications. It’s nothing bad, but the bandages were necessary._ Which is all well and nicely cryptic, but not actually an answer. Hmm.

“What to do,” Varian mutters, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He steps up to the mirror and surveys his reflection with a dark look. It is, for some weird reason, hard to look himself in the eye. “Find out where I am. Find the castle. Get into the castle… find Ruddiger.” It’s a solid plan, and he smiles a little, very determinedly not thinking about how the hell he plans to break into the castle. He’s sure to come up with _something_. But first… “I should probably figure this out, huh?”

No answer. Varian sighs. He cannot _wait_ to get Ruddiger back. He’d had no idea how much he relied on those little chirps for conversation until they weren’t there anymore. Now Varian’s only talking to himself, which is just… awkward.

He lifts a hand to his shoulder, brushing his fingers against the bandages. He’s… he’s stalling, isn’t he? He’s afraid to look, despite everything. But Varian refuses to keep walking around with those bandages on for much longer, damn it all. They’re useless and uncomfortable and attention-grabbing, and every time he sees them he’s reminded of what he did— _no—_ and who he saved— _why did I —_ and quite frankly, Varian is tired of distractions.

Also, itchy. They are so very, very itchy.

Thus decided, Varian clenches his jaw and tugs off the shirt, eyeing the layers of bandaging underneath. They’re… extensive. Almost _overkill._ The bandages wrap up his whole chest all the way to his neck and even down his arms _,_ so heavy there’s not even the slightest gap. Though, if Varian arches his neck and tilts his head back, he thinks he can almost see—

His blood runs cold. Varian goes still, silent and staring. His breathing rasps loudly in his ears. On his neck—beneath the bandaging, too high to cover entirely— he can see—

_No._

It looks like the loose curl of a fern leaf, except it’s pitted and deep and etched into his skin instead.

_No, no, no—_

His calm has vanished, his mind placing all those disjointed puzzle pieces together at last. In hindsight, the answer is obvious, but—but Varian hadn’t—he didn’t want—

_I just wanted to forget about it._

But the world has already made it abundantly clear that it doesn’t give a damn about Varian wants.

 Forget taking things slow. Varian’s lost calm and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. He rips off the bandaging with hurried movements, no longer trying to be careful about it. He tears the white cloth from his arms and away from his neck, and the moment it unravels fully he chokes. 

He is aware, distantly, of his breathing growing louder and more erratic, scraping in his throat.

_You can’t do this to me, you can’t, you **can’t—**_

But all the bandages are gone and Varian cannot deny it, either.

It’s a scar.

But no—no, maybe that’s an understatement. It’s not just a scar. It’s— it’s a mark. It’s like a brand. It’s a dark hollow of scar tissue in the center of his chest, trailing ends like veins, or the leaves of a fern, or—or a sun. The Corona sun, seared onto his chest and carving through his skin, trailing down his arms and up to his neck, violent and beautiful and cold, as if in saving him from death by the black rocks, the Sundrop power sought to mark him as theirs forever.

Ever since Varian has woken up, there has been a warmth. A pit of light nestled close to his heart. He’d thought it relief. He’d thought it happiness, maybe, that he’d survived. He’d thought— he’d thought.

Varian lifts his hand and presses it against that dark hollow, that impact-site, and feels that same warmth sing beneath his fingers.

He wants to cry, but some part of him knows this isn’t the worst of it, somehow. Not by a long shot. This hollow, this exit wound, where the rock had run him through—so what, then, of the point of impact, if this is what the Sundrop power has done to him here?

He turns around and looks at his back in the mirror, and the last of his breath shudders through his teeth. There is no sun, here. Nothing but scars, brutal and trailing, like a firework explosion at his back, where the rock had struck him through. It looks like a battle wound. It looks as gruesome as it felt; it looks like something no one could survive.

There’re echoes in his ears and dark spots in his vision, and Varian closes his eyes. He sits down slow and careful, curls up on the floor and hides his face in the crook of his arms. He rocks back and forth, wishing he’d never thought to look, trying to forget how it felt to die.

-

In the end, Varian stays in the cabin only for the night.

When the dawn comes, Varian leaves the hut behind like the hounds of hell are at his heels. He throws back on the oversized shirt and even gives a paltry attempt at replacing the bandaging, but his hands shake too badly to tie the knots. He ends up throwing them down in a fit of disgust and grinding them into the dirt with his heel. Good fucking riddance.

As soon as light crests over the hills, and he can see more than five feet in front of him, Varian escapes into the woods. He practically skips as he flees, leaving the cabin and bandages behind him, the lone mirror shattered into tiny pieces on the floor.

It doesn’t take long to find a town; it takes even less to get directions back to the capital city. The trick is to ask children—eager to please and too forgetful to recognize Varian’s face or name from any wanted posters. Within three hours Varian knows three things: he’s about a five days’ journey from the capital city, he’s in the middle of goddamn nowhere and it’s a miracle he found people at all, and finally—he’s really, _really_ hungry.

He steals an apple and spends another good five minutes talking himself out of feeling guilty, then determinedly marches his way back towards the castle. So, yeah. Easiest thing he’s done all week, honestly.

The problem, Varian knows, is not getting to the castle. That’s laughably easy. The problem is—well.

“Now, then,” Varian mutters, five days later and crankier than ever. He cradles his chin in his hands, eyeing those wide double doors with deep irritation. God, they’re so big. How pretentious can the royal family get? Do they _need_ doors the size of giants? Is it _necessary?_

Answer: Absolutely not. Varian kind of wants to blow the place up on pure principle, but alas—he needs to get inside, not exact revenge. Not right now, anyway.

“Now,” Varian repeats again, and taps his fingers against his cheek. “If _I_ were a wanted criminal who could be recognized on-sight and had to sneak into a highly fortified and well-guarded establishment without getting caught…” Which, yeah— “What would I do?”

He waits. No answer comes, and Varian sighs into the air and falls back to stare up at the sky. More seriously, he asks himself: “What should I do?”

Ruddiger in the castle, probably with the Princess, and Varian bereft of his usual tools and means of attack. The tunnels are probably well-monitored, after Varian’s little kidnapping stunt with the Queen; the front door is a no-go, no matter how funny it would be to just waltz in through the front gate. Which means…

Varian sits straight up and stares at the wide windows overlooking the gardens, over twenty feet high and gleaming in the light. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, damn it.”

He misses the days when explosions solved all his problems.

-

Okay, so, to be totally blunt: Varian and plans have never had a very substantial relationship. He has ideas, the ideas fail, he makes more ideas and ultimately finds out that yes, actually, water _can_ catch on fire! Or at least, it will if Varian’s anywhere near it, science and logic be damned.

The point is, when Varian makes plans, things go horribly awry. Witness: his last plan got him killed, and left him with an annoying-ass scar that Varian is _still_ trying not to think about. Which is why, when it comes to breaking into the castle… well.

Varian basically decides to wing it.

Sure, okay, it’s not the smartest idea—but again, the plan thing. If Varian is going to fail regardless, he might as well limit the explosions to a somewhat more manageable level. Ruddiger’s in there, after all, and… after all the goddamn trouble Varian went through to keep Rapunzel alive, killing her now would just be stupid.

(He ignores the quiet whisper lingering in the back of his mind. The softer voice that says, _Never stopped you before,_ a little sad and a little bitter, almost regretful _._ Before—the before doesn’t matter, because there is no after. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s _changed._ Varian just hates useless actions, is all. Killing Rapunzel now, after saving her—that’s a useless action, so he won’t. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.)

The start of his “winging-it” plan is the simplest—and easiest—part of the whole affair. Varian waits until dusk, when the shadows are longer and the torches are more dull than illuminating, and slips into the bushes by the castle wall when the guards aren’t looking. From there it’s a waiting game—sitting still in the shrubbery, legs pressed up against his chin, trying not to sneeze as the sun sets. Maybe it’s the waiting, or maybe just the stress, but the sun sure does take its goddamn sweet time.

Finally, _finally,_ darkness falls over the kingdom. Varian creeps his way along the wall—still hiding in the bushes, in the hopes that if he’s spotted they’ll assume it’s an animal instead of a homicidal teenager—until his reaching hands catch in a small indent in the stone.

Varian grins.

Okay, so—step one success. He’s gotten to the breach, and even better, so far he hasn’t been spotted. Rapunzel has the tunnels under surveillance, the doors on lockdown—but she doesn’t yet know how much Varian’s scoped out the castle, nor does she have any idea how many of her hidden escape routes Varian’s figured out.

_Thank-you **very** much, you restless stir-crazy princess._

Varian slips out from the bush, quietly preening. Take _that,_ Rapunzel. He’s still got it, and he didn’t even have to use alchemy this time. So what if he accidentally took a hit for Rapunzel? It’s not like it means anything, and this just proves it. Redeemable? Varian? Hah! He’s getting into that castle, he’s taking Ruddiger back, and then he’s getting as far away from Corona as physically possible.

_Just you watch, Princess. I’ll prove you wrong._ And then, _then,_ Rapunzel can finally stop this stupid insistence that they don’t need to fight. She’ll strike back, the cycle will restart, and things can just… finally go back to the way they were.

(Beneath his collar, his new scar burns.)

Varian crouches down and ducks into a roll, wriggling his way through the small breach of the wall. He emerges through the other side without fanfare, into another set of bushes, this time in the palace gardens. He’s in!

 Varian snickers under his breath, terribly pleased with himself. He’s gotten really good at an evil laugh, but alas he’ll have to save it for the escape—but just this celebration is enough. He’s gotten in! Now he just has to find a window, and soon he’ll be scot-free. Varian’s pretty good at this “sneaky” thing.

He steps out from the bushes, ready for things to finally go his way… and crashes right into the legs of a patrolling guard.

The guard yelps. Varian screams. The guard looks down. Varian looks up.

“Oh, _fuck me,”_ Varian says, with intense feeling, then rolls up onto his feet and books for the castle entrance.

“What? What? Wait—was that—hey! Hey, kid! _Hey! Stop in the name of the law!”_

“Hell no!” Varian shouts back, and rounds the corner so fast he almost trips over his own feet. Oh, damn. Damn, damn, damn. He needs—he needs—a window! He needs to find a window, where—?

There.

Varian rockets forward, nearly crashing face-first into the wall, scrambling at the ground even before his knees fully hit the dirt. His fingers close around a hefty rock and he lifts it up high, weighing it in his palm as angry voices rise up behind him.

No time to waste. Varian reels back and chucks the rock as hard as he can, covering his eyes as soon as the stone leaves his hand. He hears the glass shatter, and lurches forward, following the sound, picking up a branch by his heels to knock out more glass from the frame.

“See, right there! The kid! I swear—”

“Wait—”

“Is that—”

“Didn’t he _die?”_

Varian grits his teeth and slams his branch into the glass. The hole is big enough, now—too small for an adult to slip through without slicing their arms to ribbons, but then, Varian has always been small for his age. For once it’s actually working in his favor! Hey, small mercies.

He slips through the window, pulse jumping in his throat, adrenaline burning acidic in his veins. He barely even feels the pin-pricks of pain as his bare feet press against the broken glass. His mind is all alarm bells—he’s got to get moving, and he’s got to move _now._

“Do you think—is he—a g- _ghost_?”

His scars burn with memory, and for a moment the world turns dark and hazy—smoke in the air and blood rising in his lungs, the echo of a voice in his ears—but Varian shakes the sound away. Damn it, damn this, damn them.

_Go, go, go!_

This is what Varian gets for being cocky. Ugh. Will he ever learn?

Varian starts to run, his feet burning with every step, already breathless. Secrecy is shot to all hell. He almost slams into maids, into cooks, into servants—most just yelp, but those who do see him go white in the face and drop whatever they’re holding, and their words make his heart clench.

“—Dead—”

“Woah, hey! Who—?”

“But the reports say—”

Varian skids on the bare tile and goes barreling in the other direction, breath wheezing. He almost runs over a young seamstress, who falls over in a heap of colorful fabric, and even races past the same cryptic doctor from the village (seriously, what?), who whirls when she sees him and shouts, “Oi, child—”

The rest of the message is lost. Varian is already gone.

_This was such a bad idea,_ some small, terrified part of Varian is wailing. _Such a bad idea. I’m an idiot. Oh, my god, I’m an idiot._

This is why Varian needs Ruddiger. Total proof. Now, if only he could _find_ him—

Varian has to calm down. No, he _needs_ to calm down. He can still salvage this. So what if he’s been spotted? The guards haven’t caught him yet, everyone else thinks he’s some mass hallucination/ghost, and so far, so good: Varian hasn’t run into anyone who really _knows_ him yet, so his cover’s still safe. He can do this. He can salvage this. He can—

Varian rounds another hallway half-way through this thought, and his feet slip on the smooth stone. His eyes go wide. He slams into whichever poor fool is on the other side, just as surprised and off-guard as he is, and all three of them go tumbling down to the tile.

_Ow!_

His scars burn. His feet ache. And Varian looks up, one hand rubbing through his hair, and meets the stunned gazes of Corona’s King and Queen.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varian: "none of my plans ever go my way..."  
> also Varian: *makes a plan anyway*
> 
> He never learns, does he?? This is why a Ruddiger is important, folks. Don't ever forget your Ruddiger. It leads to broken windows and _way_ too much running. 
> 
> Again, I'm so sorry for the long wait! I hope this chapter lived up to expectations, and please let me know what you think! ✨
> 
> See you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> It’s a real struggle to try and transition from death scene to humor scene. Hopefully I handled it okay, ahaha. (It helped that Varian was so focused on freaking out, really). 
> 
> Just wanted to address this in case anyone asks— this fic is not going to be like Labyrinths. One super long and intense fic is more than enough for me!! This is really just for fun. That said, while this is mainly humorous, there will still be instances of angst (and, of course, character study!! bc I love that). This story is hilarious and yet also _secretly emotional_ , and I hope you all enjoy it as much I do!
> 
> [If you wanna rec this fic, you can reblog it here!!](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com/post/177844523617/title-its-just-a-mild-inconvenience-synopsis) Also, if you have any questions or just want to talk, [my tumblr](http://izaswritings.tumblr.com) is always open!!
> 
> Any thoughts?


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